Blood Oath and the Moon's Forgotten Lover

I spent the late hours of the night deep in conversation with Atalante. I explained everything in as much detail as possible, leaving out only the unshareable secrets like my regression or the Secret Book.

"So, this is the age of the Iron Clan?"

"Yeah. To prevent another race from emerging after this one, we need an apocalypse unlike any before."

"Peleus, it seems like you carry some kind of mission."

Atalante seemed to sense there were parts I hadn't revealed fully. But she didn't press me on it. Instead, she fell into thought, her deep, soulful eyes distant.

I told her to take her time digesting it all.

"It's going to be a shock. Deciding what to do next won't happen in a day or two."

She nodded faintly and returned to her room. For the next few days, she shut herself away completely. It made sense—her entire world, everything she'd lived and believed in, had crumbled. I understood, so I left her be.

"Peleus, the deadline for your bet with the First Scribe is fast approaching."

At the Secret Book's reminder, I shrugged.

"No need to worry. The bet's as good as won."

The First Scribe's demands were success in Divine Fusion and absorbing Heracles' Jewel. Truth be told, the real hurdle was Divine Fusion; the jewel was secondary. Over the past year, through countless trials, my understanding of divinity had deepened beyond measure. Absorbing Heracles' Jewel? I could do it today if I set my mind to it.

"That's not the biggest issue."

"Then what is?"

"Artemis."

"She got a solid hit; she won't bother us for a while."

I inwardly clicked my tongue at the Secret Book's words. What a pathetic thing. Maybe I should just sell it to a used bookstore.

"It's not about her bothering us. Have you forgotten how many times that Artemis bitch has tormented you?"

"What, you want revenge? She's a god, Peleus. No way for a human to touch her."

I wagged my finger at the Secret Book, which couldn't hide its bewilderment.

"That's why you can't escape being my secretary. Pathetic."

"What? Secretary?! How dare you call this noble being a secretary!"

"Not a bad name. Secret Book shortened to secretary. Right?"

"What?"

The Secret Book was momentarily flustered, unable to retort since it wasn't wrong—its thought processes seemed to freeze. But it couldn't help being pissed, exploding in anger.

"Insolent! How dare you abbreviate this body's esteemed name!"

"Short minds deserve short names."

"Shut up!"

"Depends on how you behave. And screwing over a god doesn't require brawling."

"...You're really planning to land a blow on Artemis."

"Of course. I'm Peleus—the guy who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠repays one hit with ten, a hundredfold."

This pattern had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to end. Artemis torments me, I barely fend her off, she torments me again, I fend her off again... I couldn't live like this.

"I want to torment her too!"

The Secret Book muttered in a fed-up tone at my declaration.

"Impressive... Your malice doesn't swerve even against gods."

"The best defense is a good offense."

"Got a plan?"

"Take a look at this."

I showed the Secret Book a parchment scroll—one of the documents seized from Artemis's temple.

It perked up with interest.

"A map? X marks all over. Treasure map?"

"Treasure map, my ass. Do you think Artemis's priests are dreamy pirates? Read the bottom."

"Endymion Search Log?"

"Yeah. And check this out."

The papers on the table were records from Sparta's Artemis temple, searching for an entity called Endymion on orders from above.

"From the docs, it's not just Sparta's temple. The whole Artemis cult seems to be searching in secret."

"Who's Endymion? Sounds like a human name."

"Can't say for sure, but I have my guesses..."

Knowledge from Earth's Greek and Roman Mythology proved invaluable here. Endymion was a shepherd beloved by the moon goddess Selene. A beauty so stunning she fell head over heels. It started with Selene watching over his flock while he slept. Later, fearing his aging, she granted him eternal slumber. He remained forever young, asleep in his prime—never aging, never dying.

"...Isn't that just killing him?"

The Secret Book was dumbfounded by my tale.

"Technically, yeah. He's a living doll for the goddess's amusement, breathing but never waking. Selene even bedded the sleeping Endymion, bearing countless daughters—some say twelve, others fifty."

"I'm not human, but that's messed up. Taxidermy your crush and go to town, popping out endless kids."

"Spot on."

Insane story, no matter how you slice it. Whether this world's Endymion and Selene matched exactly was unknown, but experience suggested they wouldn't differ much.

"Anyway, that mad-in-love moon goddess Selene is gone from this world, her power stolen by Artemis. The forbidden texts say Artemis 'devoured' her."

"Literally ate her?"

A chill hit me at that.

"Even for hot-tempered Artemis, doubtful... but Endymion was Selene's lover. Grotesque form aside, he was loved by a personality-disordered moon goddess."

"So, you're saying sleeping Endymion still exists, and that's what Artemis is after?"

"Just a hunch. Myths often use metaphors and hidden meanings—Endymion might not be human. Those fifty daughters could symbolize something else."

"You don't know for sure."

"That's why this is key."

I placed Heracles' Jewel on the table.

"I need to settle things with the First Scribe and perform the offering ritual anytime. Pay the price, and we'll uncover Endymion's location or secrets. See?"

I pointed to the cult's map.

"They're desperate. Sparta's temple alone has been at it for twenty years. Artemis started way earlier."

"Whatever it is, they want it bad."

"Yeah! Imagine us snatching it first. Artemis would spit blood. A once-in-a-millennium chance to screw that wretched bitch."

The Secret Book fell silent, trembling faintly—excited, perhaps.

"I'm impressed. Your bottomless villainy sparks genius ideas at times. You're unmatched at ruining others."

"Praise or insult? Hard to tell."

"Since you're the villain, it's high praise. Revel in it, Peleus."

"...Anyway, once we can do the offering, we'll surpass even gods. Become true executors of the apocalypse, blocking the transcendents' path."

Knowledge is power. Harpocrates didn't give me heaven-shattering strength, but something better: cards even gods don't know. Humans can't beat gods with raw power, but knowing their secrets lets you toy with them.

"Lord Harpocrates is truly great."

The Secret Book was uncharacteristically reverent toward the god of secrets.

"With the offering, pinpoint Endymion's location and identity. Confirm why Artemis wants him. Then we snag him first."

"Excellent, Peleus. Splendid."

"Before the ritual, should ask Atalante. She might know something to refine our questions."

Atalante still needed time. While waiting, I absorbed Heracles' Jewel. Sleepless nights, not easy, but success at last. All that rolling around paid off.

Days later, late at night, Atalante finally emerged.

"Sorry for the hour."

"No worries. Wasn't asleep. Looks like heavy thinking—your face is half gone."

"I've made a firm decision after much deliberation."

I nodded for her to go on. She approached, drew her dagger, and slashed her palm.

Guessing her intent, I asked, "Should I do it too?"

She nodded. Complaining about pain now would make me look like trash. No choice—I took her dagger and cut my palm. Thick blood welled up.

Atalante gripped my hand hard. Our blood mingled, wounds touching.

"Peleus, I'll stand with you from now on. I'm cutting ties with Goddess Artemis."

She swore by blood. Breaking this vow brings death from the goddess of retribution. It showed her seriousness.

"Thanks. I'll stand with you too, Atalante."

We nodded faintly, sealing the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠short but ironclad rite.

"Atalante, pretend to obey Artemis for now."

"Of course. I won't charge in recklessly."

"Oh, question: Know anything about Endymion?"

"What? How do you...?"

She was shocked. Instead of answering, I showed her the documents I'd shared with the Secret Book.

She examined them, nodding.

"Sparta's temple was searching too. I was assigned once—scoured caves around Corinth Gulf."

"Matches what I know?"

I recounted Earth's Greek and Roman Mythology version of Endymion, checking for differences with this world's.

"Yes, Endymion's the shepherd loved by Goddess Selene. We searched for the sleeping man."

Good—matches my knowledge.

"Why's Artemis after him?"

"Hm..."

Atalante half-closed her eyes, organizing thoughts.

"From what Artemis let slip, probably the power he holds."

"Power?"

"Once, she mentioned not fully absorbing the moon's power. Sounded regretful."

"Some of Selene's power lingers in sleeping Endymion?"

"High chance. That's why Artemis—er, she—was so obsessed."

Artemis's moon power incomplete? Endymion's a bigger card than thought. Snatch him, and it's a devastating blow.

Then, a key possibility hit me.

"What if... some of Selene's power remains in Endymion? Could we revive her somehow?"

"What?"

Atalante's eyes widened at the unforeseen idea.

"No way to beat Artemis now. But Endymion as a foundation for Selene's revival? Could strike her hard someday."

I gazed at the moon from the window.

"That moon isn't fully hers..."

Facing hunt-and-moon goddess Artemis felt impossible before, but now a path glimmered.

I quizzed Atalante more on Endymion, then sent her off.

"Let's revisit tomorrow."

"Got it. It's late..."

Once she left, I began the offering ritual. Too excited to sleep despite the hour.

"Secret Book, everything's ready. Summon the First Scribe."

"The day to meet that one again has come. Sigh..."

The Secret Book was as burdened as before—like facing a boss. Harpocrates as CEO, First Scribe as manager, this thing as intern.

I drew the magic circle on the floor—familiar now, no trouble. Complete, I chanted the long incantation.

A sticky, suffocating presence enveloped me— the familiar filth. But weaker than before. Last time, it was like drowning in the deep sea, gasping toward death. I nearly quit midway. Now? Manageable. Oddly intriguing.

"Now I call your servant. Descend here, whisper the great records of the Akashic to the chosen apostle of worldly secrets."

The chant ended; colossal chaos crashed like a tsunami. Before, I'd scream, curse in panic. Now?

"Mm..."

A mere grunt. My embraced divinity clearly buffered it.

Far beyond average Olympians. But now, its pressure was bearable.

The First Scribe halted before me, sensing my composure. Its pipe-organ voice boomed.

"Yeah?"

It didn't reply immediately, scanning me. Then, with a tone of admiration:

Come to think of it, I remembered yelling in rage last time. It had praised my guts—though still treating me like a bug.

"Different now?"

"Really?"

A curious claim. Intrigued, it explained simply:

"Now?"

It shoved its massive snail eye close, grumbling distastefully.

"Plenty of time for a human."

Well, how'd it fare? You're my servant from now on.